[Verse 1] Opened the store today, a brand-new price in my face A console’s a luxury now, not a casual space. Three hundred bucks on top? For the same old machine? That’s the death of our hobby, a corporate, dystopian scene. All of the memory and silicon goes to cloud-server flights While consumer tech is a zero in their quarterly financial reports. One massive deal with OpenAI brings billions overnight And desktop gaming is dying, because it’s independent, right? [Verse 2] It’s a new arms race, where teraflops are the nukes We gotta buy overpriced bricks, while AI commands the internet dukes. Cheap budget device? Forget it, a dream from the past We’re stuck in an era where market shell-shocks hit hard and fast. The tech bubble is swelling like the machine’s expanding mind The Great Depression is knocking, and we’re left behind. [Chorus] Oh, desktop gaming, you’re dying in the corporate shade A "smart" altar is built on the ruins that they made. If you already own a console, you’re the king of the debris 'Cause new price tags are walls, killing gaming worlds we used to see. Hilarious, hilarious! We’re dying inside the code Our old rigs are the only real nature left on the road! [Bridge] And the funniest part of this song, the ultimate joke: These lyrics are generated, a machine-made smoke. It’s a closed loop, an algorithm singing its own victory run We are just fuel for the progress, under their artificial sun. [Digital glitch noise building up, blending into heavy bass scratch] [Outro] While it still boots up, I’ll play my vintage choice Until my old metal friend speaks its final voice. We are the last real players, safe from their data nets The bubble will burst—we'll survive, but your corporate towers will collapse. We are already the victims of digital aggression. [Sound of a vintage console boot-up — PS One startup chime]
